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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dwala: A
romance
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
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you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Dwala: A romance

Author: George Calderon

Release date: July 11, 2022 [eBook #68496]

Language: English

Original publication: United Kingdom: Smith, Elder & Co, 1904

Credits: Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from images made available by the HathiTrust
Digital Library.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DWALA: A

ROMANCE ***
DWALA
 DWALA
A ROMANCE

BY
GEORGE CALDERON
AUTHOR OF ‘THE ADVENTURES OF DOWNY V. GREEN’

LONDON
SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1904

[All rights reserved]

 TO
KITTIE
 DWALA

I
The sun was sinking towards the Borneo mountains. The forest and
the sea, inscrutable to the bullying noon, relented in this discreeter
light, revealing secrets of green places. Birds began to rustle in the
big trees; the shaking of broad leaves in the undergrowth betrayed
the movement of beasts of prey going about their daily work. The
stately innocence of Nature grew lovelier in a sudden trouble of
virginal consciousness.
There was only one sign of human habitation in the landscape—a
worn patch by the shore, like a tiny wilderness in a vast oasis.
Battered meat-tins, empty bottles, and old newspapers littered the
waterline; under the rock was a tumble-down hut and a shed; from a
stable at the side a pony looked out patiently over the half-door;
something rustled in a big cage. In the twilight under the shed a man
lay sleeping in a low hammock, grizzled and battered, with one bare
brown foot hanging over the edge. He yawned and opened his eyes.
‘Are ye thar, Colonel?’
Another figure, which had been crouching beside the hammock with
a palm-leaf, watching the sleeper, slowly uprose. Hardly a human
figure this, though dressed like a man; something rather akin to the
surrounding forest; a thing of large majestic motions, and melancholy
eyes, deep-set under thick eyebrows. The man sat up and coughed
for a little while.
‘Whar’s the dinner, Colonel? You’ve not lit the fire yet.’
‘Fire crackles,’ said the Colonel.
The man stretched and spat.
‘Ah, you was afraid the noise’d wake me, sonny. Wahl, hurry up now,
for I’m as peckish as a pea-hen.’
The man refilled his pipe from the big tin that lay in the hammock
with him, while the Colonel, going hither and thither with large, deft
movements, piled a fire, boiled a pot and spread the dinner. Dinner
ready, he brought it to the man; crouching at his feet he watched him
reverently as he handled knife and fork. At the smell of dinner a
number of large monkeys came swinging down from the trees and
collected outside the shed. A captive chimpanzee came out of a tub-
kennel and began to ramble swiftly and silently to and fro on its
chain, as if developing in movement some unwholesome purpose
conceived in the hours of quiescence. The man threw them pieces
from time to time, for which they scrambled and fought in a way that
called for interference.
‘Now, Chauncey, you leave pore Amélie’s whiskers alone. That piece
was meant for her.... Go slow, Marie! and you, William J. Bryan, get
up off Talmage, unless you’ve a yearn for the far-end of my teacher’s
help.’
When the meal was over the American took out some sewing—
some old clothes of his own, that he was patching up for the Colonel
—while the Colonel ate the scraps that remained, and cleared the
things away. This done, the Colonel came and sat down once more
by the man.
‘Whar’s your Word-makin’ and Word-takin’ gotten to, Colonel?’ said
the American, looking up from his sewing. ‘Hev you bin hidin’ it up
that teak tree agen?’
The Colonel looked uncomfortably about him, blinked once or twice,
and scratched his thigh.
‘Burn my fingers,’ said the man, ‘but I think you’re as like a human
b’y as any ape can get. Slip off yer boots. Mosey up and fetch ’em
back right now, you young hellion, and spell me out “Home, sweet
home,” afore I get to the end of this seam.’
‘So I’m a scientific discoverer, am I?’ mused the American, left alone.
‘And I’ve foun’ the Missin’ Link at last, hev I? There’ll be a pile o’
money in that, I shouldn’t wonder. The Colonel’ll be mighty pleased
when he hears he ain’t an or’nary ape; he’ll be as proud as a Bishop
among the angels.’
The Colonel meanwhile came climbing with swift and solemn
accuracy down the teak tree, the box of letters in his mouth. The
chimpanzee growled and chattered with aimless fury as she roamed
to and fro.
‘See here, Colonel, I’ve hed a letter from the Boss. I fotch it in along
with that passel on last Toosday.... Squit that I-talian music, you dun-
coloured Dago’—this to the chimpanzee—‘you unlicensed traveller in
otto o’ roses; shet yer head, I say, and don’t show yer lunch-hooks at
me.... I’ll hev to get rid o’ that dosh-burned critter; she’ll niver be a
credit to the Show.... Whar was I? Why, letter from the Boss; that’s
so. Wahl, thar was noos in that letter fur you an’ me, Colonel, big
noos.’
The Colonel turned his melancholy eyes on his master: their
expression never varied, but his breath came quick and fast with an
unspoken interrogation.
‘I’d bin expeckin’ it fur a lawng time; but I begin to feel sorter queer
now it’s nigh on comin’ true.’
‘Are they goin’ to fetch us away?’ said the Colonel.
‘This vurry next day that is, Colonel; one of his boats will put in here
and fetch me away with the whole of my bag o’ tricks to meet the
Show in London.’
‘You’re mighty glad, eh?’
‘I’m that, sonny. But I feel sorter queer too. I’ve grown kinder used to
this life, bein’ boss myself an’ all that. And yet, if you come to think of
it, ... by Jelly, it’s the queerest thing of all. Me goin’ inter pardnership,
as you might say, with an ornary ape! Hand me the matches, sonny
—by my foot thar; this blamey pipe’s gone out agen.... Here was I
an’ pore old Jabez dumped down by the Boss, to train some
monkeys for his show. Whin Jabez took the fever and went over the
range I began to be kinder lonesome; got a sorter hungry feel in my
teeth with not speakin’. So I slipped into a kinder habit o’ talkin’ to
you all like humans, jest to ease my gums. An’ all of a sudden, one
fine day, Colonel, you bein’ dissatisfied with yer dinner, you ups an’
answers me back. I was tolerable astonished at the time, I
remember, tho’ I didn’t let on, maybe, but jest caught you a clip on
the ear for sassin’ yer biggers, an’ passed along. I’d niver hed any
back-talk from an anthropoid before. Of course, as you say, it came
nateral-like to you; you was on’y addin’ one more language to your
vurry considerable stock, an’ I reckon from what you tell me that the
de-flections of the verb are much simpler in Amurrkan than in
Chimpanzee for instance; but the fack remains that you’re the first
monkey I iver heard talkin’ outside of his own dialeck. The Boss was
considerable interessted in my re-port, an’ he’s worked up a theory
of how your species got the bulge on the rest by larnin’ their various
lingoes, workin’ trade relations, and pouchin’ the difference of
exchange on cokernuts an’ bread-fruits. It’s his idee to deliver
himself of a lecture on the subject before the R’yal Institoot, an’
make you sing some o’ your folksongs whin we get to London.’
‘Ah—what like’s London, dad?’
‘Wahl, sonny, it’s not so fine a place as Bawston, but it has its p’ints.
The people are easier took in than in Bawston, an’ we find it a better
place for a Show. Then they hev a King in London, which we don’t
hev in Bawston; besides dooks and markises, which we on’y see in
Amurrka in the pairin’ season. An’ Shakspere was born near there
too, an’ the original Miss Corelli. One city’s much like another, whin
you’ve bin three years in Borneo. What a man gits a yearn for is
civalisation.’
‘Ci-va-li-sation ... What’s civalisation, dad?’
‘It’s a hard word, sonny; but it means purty well everything we don’t
hev here in Borneo. It means leadin’ a higher life, hustlin’ around,
machinery, perlicemen, hevin’ a good time, iced drinks, theaters,
ringin’ a bell fer yer boots, an’ a hunderd other things. Gas lamps,
an’ electric light, an’ beer, an’ wine——’
‘Like yonder?’
‘That’s it, sonny; like that lot I brought from Bilimano, on’y stronger.
An’ iverybody’s in lovely close; all the women lookin’ like picters
outer “Puck”; all the men wi’ creases down their pants; pavement
down along all the streets——’
‘Don’t stop sewin’, dad.’
‘Ah, you young scamp, you’re eager to git inter yer new pair, I can
see. Gosh, but the women, they’re hunky.’
‘What like’s the streets, dad?’
‘It’s a cur’ous thing, but you don’t seem to take so much interest in
the women as I’d hev expected, sonny ... I reckon you were in the
habit, before I caught you, of sorter climbin’ out with gals of your own
species among the banyan-trees down away in Java; and you don’t
set much store by other kinds. That’ll be another p’int for the
lecture.... Think what a man I’ll be over in England, sonny; I’ll be top
o’ the tree over thar, you’ll be proud to know me. I’ll be flyin’ around
the town in a plug hat an’ silver-topped cane, noddin’ an’ affable
howdy to my multitudinous friends from the top of a tramcar. “Who’s
that?” people will say. “Why, don’t you know? That’s the scientific
man who foun’ the Missin’ Link.”’
‘Missin’ ... Missin’ what, dad?’
‘The Missin’ Link.’
‘What’s the ... Missin’ Link?’
‘Wahl, I should smile! Ef I hedn’t clean forgotten to tell you. It’s all in
the Boss’s letter. Why—you’re the Missin’ Link, sonny!’
‘What’s that, anyway?’
‘Wahl, sonny, it means a sort o’ monkey that isn’t quite an ornary sort
o’ monkey ... kinder, sorter.... Wahl, as you might say, sonny, partly
almost more like a man.’
‘Like—like you, dad?’
‘Wahl, not that exactly—a sorter lower creation altogether. But
there’s a lot o’ scientific folks as says that men are descended from
Missin’ Links.’
The Colonel rose to his feet and looked out to sea with dilated
nostrils.
‘Missin’ Links ... men ... civalisation ... and Colonel’s a Missin’ Link!
Why, then....’
‘Go slow, sonny. I on’y said you was a peg higher’n an omary
monkey. Jest sit down quiet an’ figure out “anthropoid” with those
letters o’ yourn. You’d be mighty small potatoes in a civalised crowd;
so you’ve no need to slop over that way.’
The Colonel sat down, obediently, to his letters, and they both
worked in silence for some time.
‘Yes,’ continued the American, ‘I shouldn’t wonder ef they was to
eleck me a member of some of those larned societies of theirs.
They’ll be askin’ me out to champagne dinners, too, no doubt. I
shouldn’t wonder now ef I was to be asked to go an’ dine with the
Prince of Wales—him I was tellin’ you about; distinguished furriners
always go to dine with the Prince o’ Wales.’
‘Take Colonel too, dad?’
‘Whar to, sonny?’
‘The Prince o’ Wales’s.’
‘Now that’s downright foolish to be talkin’ like that, Colonel. You’ll hev
to stay with the Show, of course.... You’ll be pleased with the Show;
it’s the most fre-quented place in London; they’ll be givin’ you buns
an’ candy all day long. The Boss was thinkin’ of puttin’ you in the
anamal department, but ef he’s pleased with you I shouldn’t wonder
but what he’d promote you to the human monstrosities. I’ll put in a
good word for you. We’ve bin the best o’ friends, Colonel; you kin
hev the key o’ my trunk any day; but I won’t be able to see so much
of you arter to-morrow. No. I’ve been thinkin’ over the question
keerfully, an’ I’ve concluded you an’ me’ll not be able to travel over
together.’
The Colonel listened with impassive attention. The American
avoided his eye with some little embarrassment.
‘There’s all manner o’ difficulties, sonny. In the first place, these
ignorant Christian sailor-lads that’ll come ashore to-morrow won’t
perhaps hardly grasp the situation ef they find me talkin’ ornary
sense with a hairy pagan ape; an’ I think you’d best keep yer head
shet until they’ve gotten used to the looks of you, an’ I’ve hed time to
explain matters. It might create some jealousies in the crew ef you
was set up over their heads to consort with the captain an’ the mate,
as I’ll be doin’. At first sight it seemed to me as ef you’d hev to travel
all alone in the steerage as a third-class passenger.’
‘Steerage—what’s the steerage?’
‘That’s down in the between decks. Not so bad, sonny: I’ve travelled
that way often myself. But it’s not high-class, like travellin’ with the
captain.... Yes, that’s what I’d meant at first. But there’s obstacles in
the way o’ that too, sonny. I’ve been thinkin’ ef we enter you as a
passenger there may be difficulties at the Custom House with the
Alien Immigrants Act. They’re mighty pertikler.... There, that’s done!’
he interjected, as he bit off the thread and held up the new trousers
to view. ‘Climb inter those pants, sonny, an’ let’s see how they look.’
The Colonel did as he was told, and the American continued:
‘You an’ me would be mightily put about to fill in the form of
declaration as to famaly history an’ religion an’ what not, ef it’s the
same as in the States. An’ on the whole I’ve concluded it will be best
to put you back in your old hutch and take you over under the Large
Wild Anamals Act.’
The Colonel seemed wholly absorbed in the adjustment of his
clothes. The muscles of his big jaw worked backwards and forwards
to a pressure of the teeth.
‘They’re a bit baggy behind,’ continued his patron. ‘I’ll hev to take a
reef in the seat. Slip ’em off again; you won’t be needin’ any close
any more till we get over to London.’
Instead of obeying, the Colonel walked slowly forward out of the
penthouse to the shade of a young tree where a big wooden cage
lay lumbering on its side. He looked at it and turned it thoughtfully
over with a push of his powerful leg; then laid one hand on the thick
bough above him, the other on the stem of the tree. A slow cracking
and rustling ensued, splinters gaped white, the bough was in his
hands, raised aloft, and descending furiously, smashing the old
hutch to little pieces. The American rose astounded from his
hammock.
‘Quit that foolin’, and come here!’
Bang! Bang! Bang!
‘Come here, you mule-headed monkey.’
The Colonel dropped breathless for one moment on all fours, rose to
his full height swinging the monstrous branch over his head and
sending forth a long loud yell like a man in a nightmare, then swept
crashing away into the forest, his weapon thumping like a sledge-
hammer as he went.
The monkeys in the trees about chattered applause or commentary,
a cloud of sea-fowl flew up from the shore, and the American stood
scratching the back of his head thoughtfully in the midst. Then he
looked round at the trees and the sea and the pony, taking them all
into his confidence with a discomfited smile; pulled himself together
and shouted:
‘Colonel!’
He grew contemptuous at the want of an answer, thrust down the
ashes in his pipe with a horny finger, and returned slowly to his rest
under the shed, consoling his solitude with a slow-flowing murmur of
scorn:
‘All right, my child. You wait till you come back. Civalisation! You! You
ornary, popeyed, bobtailed, jimber-jawed, jerrybuilt jackass....’
 II
The Colonel went through the virgin forest, spending his fury in
motion, swinging forward from branch to branch, running, leaping, till
the fury was lost in the recovered delight of liberty. Childhood
continued, after an irrelevance.
Here was the old smell of forest earth, the inexhaustible plenty of
bare elastic boughs, the cool feeling of fungus, the absence of
articulate speech, the impossibility of anger. Night came, the grand
and terrible night, with its old familiar fear, long lost in the
neighbourhood of a confident human mind. He rejoiced in his fear as
in a fine quality recovered, rousing it to an ecstasy after long
silences, by murmuring his own name in the darkness in terrified
tones: ‘Colonel! Colonel!’
Then there came a rustling of leaves, a low chuck-chuck of prey
warning prey, the sound of a vast retreat, and the slow padding of
panther feet on the forest floor. The Colonel lay still on his bough,
tingling with an unnatural calm, and the Panther breathed deep
below him and looked up. And the Panther said:
‘I am the Panther, all Panthers in one—a symbol, irresistible.’
Waves of strong life undulated down his spotted tail, as though life
passed through him to and from all his tribe; and the Colonel lay in a
pleasant fear and numbness on his bough. And the Panther said:
‘I will climb slowly to you.’
‘And leap suddenly!’
‘The glory of my eye shall increase upon you.’
‘Numbing my limbs!’
‘We will fall and play together on the earth.’
‘I shall die!’
‘A noble death.’
‘I shall be torn and eaten!’
‘And your strength shall go into the strength of All the Panthers.’
But as the Panther reached the fork of the boughs his paw slipped,
and the numbness left the Colonel, and he leaped upon the neck of
the panther with fingers and teeth, crying:
‘You are not All the Panthers, but a single creature like myself; and I
will tear you as I tear a young tree when my limbs desire it.’
They fell together, a long distance, to the earth, and the Colonel
grasped one mauling hind-paw of the panther with one foot and
gripped him by the belly with the other, and rolled over and over with
him, and strangled him, and tore his two jaws apart to the shoulder
as an angry man might tear a glove. Then he licked his wounds and
slung his boots over his shoulder again, and forgot all about the
battle but the joy of unlimited ferocity.
So he went forward from day to day, forgetful of the past, and
thoughtless for the future, till he came to the top of the mountain,
and, looking back, beheld the sea. He gazed at it for some time, then
murmured ‘Civalisation!’ and fell into a deep gloom of thought.
He followed the tops of the mountains to the north, with an obscure
dissatisfaction growing in the dark back places of his mind; the
pleasure of motion was poisoned in each extreme tension by a
recurrent languor. He lacked something, and he did not know what
he lacked. He went idly forward for many days, till he heard the
chopping of an axe. He drew stealthily nearer to the sound, and
followed the man back in the evening to his village—a village of
naked men with dark skins, very orderly and quiet. And the Colonel
lurked about by the village and watched the people, and was happy
again.
For he had tasted the supreme happiness of the animal, the
nearness of Man. The animal that has once had Man for his
companion or for his prey is never afterwards contented with other
company or fare. Curiosity had taken its place among his appetites;
the necessity of watching Man’s inscrutable ways, the pleasure of
using his implements and reproducing his effects.
 III
In the dead of night the Colonel descended into the midst of the
village, in boots and torn trousers, and drew water on the long beam-
lever from the well and poured it into the tank, talking gently to
himself while he did it; and the villagers, awakened by the creaking
and rattling, crept to crannies and looked on and trembled.
And in the morning they gathered in the village square and
speculated. Who is he? The women were afraid to go into the forest;
the ripe crops dropped the seed from their ears in the clearings.
Night after night he was there, and graciously tasted of their offerings
of fruit and cakes. No one slept by night but the children, and the
priest who dreamed true dreams. The priest was their hope, for
through him alone could the Soochings learn from the gods what
must be believed and done. And day after day the perplexity grew,
for the priest was old and forgot his dreams; and though he sat till
sunset with the doctors of the law about him, he could not recall
them.
But, one day, when they had sat for many hours in silence, watching
the True Dreamer with his head bowed between his knees, trying to
remember, a young priest spoke:
‘I myself have had a dream.’
‘Of what use are your dreams?’ said the old man, looking quickly up.
‘I dreamed that I saw the True Dreamer sleeping; and over him stood
the vision of a dead man, with the burial cords hanging loose about
him, and a peeled rod in his hand as of a messenger.’
A murmur ran round the squatting circle.
‘It is true,’ said the old man ‘I have seen this vision three times.’